I was anxious to test the skill of my cook, so I ordered her to get a good supper for me, and I gave her some money.
“I have some money,” she replied, “and I will let you have the bill to-morrow.”
After taking away whatever I had left with Mengs I went to Don Diego’s house, and to my astonishment found it empty. I went back and asked Philippe, my man, where Don Diego was staying.
“It’s some distance, sir; I will take you there tomorrow.”
“Where is my landlord?”
“In the floor above; but they are very quiet people.”
“I should like to see him.”
“He is gone out and won’t be home till ten.”
At nine o’clock I was told that my supper was ready. I was very hungry, and the neatness with which the table was laid was a pleasant surprise in Spain. I was sorry that I had had no opportunity of expressing my satisfaction to Don Diego, but I sat down to supper. Then indeed I thought the cobbler a hero; the Biscayan maid might have entered into rivalry with the best cook in France. There were five dishes, including my favourite delicacy ‘las criadillas’, and everything was exquisite. My lodging was dear enough, but the cook made the whole arrangement a wonderful bargain.
Towards the end of supper Philippe told me that the landlord had come in, and that with my leave he would wish me a good evening.